Taken to his lair

Still smarting from the stinging welt on his cheek Randy wondered what he was going to do with his captive. The feel of her slender body squirming vigorously against his hips and thighs sent a burning desire through his loins. His manhood was as hard as he could ever remember, and the animal part of his brain urged him to have her, right now, right here, on this sandy beach. It took all his willpower to calm the fire that burned in his core.

By the time she had clumsily laced her boots, he had a little more control. The beach was much too public, and by now the hunt would have noticed she was missing. It was far too risky to stay by the brook where any rider on the road to the village could see him. He wanted to take his time as he exacted his vengeance on her supple flesh. As soon as Charlotte's boots were on and laced, he lifted her to her feet.

"Time to go my lady." He told her as he pulled a long braided leather cord from his belt and wrapped it around her wrists binding her soundly. Once her wrists were secured he tied the ends of his neck cloth firmly behind her head, noting as he did just how pretty her small ears were. Her earrings were modest compared to many other women of her standing, just small diamond chips in a gold setting, and he wondered if she chose the studs because she knew she would be riding today, or if she preferred the simple effect. If anything, Randy decided the modesty of the piercings made her delicate earlobes look more desirable than the most ostentatious cluster of gemstones and precious metals.

He realized he was staring at her ear, bewitched by the need he felt to kiss the delicate shell until her trembling subsided. He suddenly remembered who and where he was, Charlotte stood before him waiting for him to move. Shaking his head like a great hound, he pulled her roughly through the shallow water across the brook and into the great dark forest that started on the far bank and extended for miles unbroken except by the occasional trail, charcoal camp or hunting cabin. As a child he spent as much time as possible in these woods pretending he was Robin Hood righting the wrongs of the sheriff or Sir Lancelot questing for the Holy Grail.

Looking back at Miss Marlton, Randy felt a pang of guilt. Her dress was covered with burrs and leaves, and her bosom was rising and falling, pressing the pale swell of her breasts attractively against the brocade of her dress either from exertion or fear. He could see Charlotte trying to say something through the cloth gag, but they were still dangerously close to where her screams could be heard by a search party. Soon enough the gag could come off; he was taking her to a location where her screams would not be a problem.

Randy was a little hesitant about taking Charlotte to his lair, but he needed a place where he could keep her safely while he figured out his next plan of action. He had discovered this cave years ago when he was just a teen, and over the past three months had spent considerable time and effort to make it as comfortable as any lodging in the village. The roar of the falls became clearer as he approached his lair identifying its unique location. It was unfortunate; before he released Charlotte he would have to move to a new hideout, but that was a problem for some other time.

Charlotte hated the forest, she hated the foul-tasting gag that made her jaws ache, she hated the soggy feeling of her wet boots, she hated the way her shoulders protested each time her arms were jerked forward by the beast who had **** her and most of all she hated the strange man. He had been merciless in his treatment of her. Who did he think he was that could treat her this way! As she followed the man she studied his broad back and strong shoulders; the cutlass by his side and the flintlock through his belt made it clear he was an outlaw.

It must be Black Brand she realized with a start. If it truly was he, his nickname came from the blackness in his heart, not the color of his hair. The man's shoulder length blond hair was a fair as summer wheat. It was a tangled mess and couple of twigs were lodged in his thick mane, she wondered how long it would take to comb out his thick locks and wondered if his hair was as fine as it looked.

What was he going to do with her? Was he going to kill her? Or worse? What if he tried to **** her! Several of the books in her family library made oblique references to the fate of women taken by men, and even the bible by her bed stand had several passages where women were overcome. Charlotte had started a hidden collection of erotic romances hidden behind the taller books on the bookshelf. These were mostly shabbily printed on yellowing paper with poor grammar and questionable spelling, but there was something about the stories that both alarmed and excited her. In almost all of them, young maidens were placed in perilous predicaments, falling into the hands of villains who lusted after their innocent young bodies. There were fantasies of princesses captured in battle, peasant girls taken by ogres, and retellings Arthurian knights and Greek mythology. Others were set on the modern age and gave titillating accounts of fair-skinned Europeans falling into the hands of savages and of virgins captured by Barbary Pirates and sold as harem slaves in auctions. One book even had a color plate showing the chained heroine with her pale skin barely covered in only the briefest slip of clothing being bid upon by swarthy desert sheikhs.

In many of these novels the heroine was held unmolested for a ransom from her family or rescued immediately after the sale, so the specifics of what might have happened to her were never described. In several of the more licentious writings, however, the captured maidens were thoroughly defiled, escaping from one unspeakable fate only to find themselves at the mercy of some even more unsavoury characters. Even without these erotic descriptions, Charlotte was worldly enough to know that in real life the proud heroines would certainly have been ruthlessly ravaged by their captors.

Is this the fate she will be **** to endure?